What’s One to Do?

I ventured into the bar, unsure of what else to do with my day.

Past the crowds I pushed, towards an empty stool at the end. The bartender nodded to me as he poured my drink, leaving me to my business as he attended the gathering that flooded his station. I sipped on it as I watched the television, the news of the day the only thing on my mind. In my back pocket was a letter that stated I had a week to wait until my papers were finished being processed.

All around, there was noise, more than I had heard in any bar at home. March didn’t seem to be the time to be drinking excessively. People were shouting, laughing, kissing… I rolled my eyes awkwardly in the corner. The crowd was rowdy, all decorated in lavish costumes, and I kept my head down, trying not to get in their way or into trouble. Huddled over my section of the bar, I sat onward, my eyes observing as I tried to have a relaxer for the day. The change of scenery did not seem to be what I needed, and the sight of my sickened face in the mirror on the wall told me it was time to leave.

Leaving a fistful of bills under my half finished glass, I pushed away from the bar, weaving in and out of the other crazy patrons. One wore an overly large top hat, dancing with a cane as he gulped down a beer. At many tables, men’s stomachs hung out of their shirts, full of beer and still consuming more. They rose from their seats to embrace one another, and I was caught in the middle of a mosh, wiggling my way out. The feel of sweaty skin was repulsive, the smell of excessive alcohol more than enough to make me want to get out.

I made an exaggerated gasp for air as I emerged from the bar, fixing my disheveled self. Hat, jacket, papers in pocket, I mentally checked off. Straightening my red, white and green flag pin on my shirt, I walked away to my car.

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